He was the love of my life, with a grin a mile long, eyes that sparkled when they looked at me, and the best sense of humor. At least, he was till I found out he was cheating on me. I wish I could say I did the stoic thing and threw him out of my life with no regrets.

But I didn't. I never even got the chance to tell him that I hated him.

He told me that he was leaving on our one year anniversary.

"Danny," he said, taking my hand at dinner, "you're a really great person. You have a singular personality, brilliant mind, and loving disposition."

I loved how Jack could tell me these things. Most guys said cheesy stuff like, "you know I love you right?" and not really mean it. But with Jack, it was sincere.

I could see our whole life before us, the two of us together till death do us part. The family we'd have, the job he'd excel in and I'd be right there beside him, urging him to complete his goals. We'd have rough spots- what couple didn't- but I felt sure that we could move past them.

I could see us now, in our late fifties, retiring after years of work to enjoy each others' company and-

"Which is why I hate to tell you this," Jack interrupted my day-dream, softly, voice persistent, "but I am leaving."

I blinked, surprised, "Where?" I asked, coming back down to earth at breathtaking speed.

"London," he replied, "I have a job offer there and I think it's a great opportunity to advance my career."

His career? But what about the relationship we had? What about all the effort we'd put into getting to know each other?

Jack stood up from his seat, bent over and kissed my cheek, "It's been good to know you, Danny."

And then he was gone.

I remained where I was, sitting at the table, trying to understand what it was I'd done wrong. How could I have misunderstood? Didn't he want a relationship? A wife, a partner to face down the world?

I went to the door, opened it, and stared down the hall. I willed him to come back, to say it was just a joke and that he wanted me to come with him. I would have, if he'd asked. I would have done anything for Jack.

But he didn't want me. It became sharply clear, the realization hitting me so hard that I couldn't breathe. I closed the door and leaned against it, willing my heart to keep beating just so that I could understand what I'd done wrong.

I went out to the balcony when the tears came. How come I was doomed to failure? Why couldn't I be like all my friends?

All they did was traipse about happily, meet some guy in high school, married said high-school-sweetheart, and then they had the perfect life with 2.5 kids, a house, a car, and a mortgage by the time they reached 20.

Here I was, 21, single, college grad with no life outside of her work, and a minor social life that bordered on the non-existent.

What was I doing wrong? How did I manage to ruin every relationship I'd ever been in?

A sudden wave of smoke choked me and I staggered to my feet, coughing and waving at all the smoke that had suddenly appeared.

"Between you and me," said someone from the center of all the smoke, "it would be much easier if I simply appeared. All the smoke and mirrors get on my nerves." He wore a top hat, jeans and a cargo shirt, a simple grin, and leaned carelessly on a cane. Underneath the top hat, his messy blonde hair almost hid mischievous light brown eyes and nice nose that fit well with his simple grin. The shoes- Vans- caught me off guard, as did the piercing in his ear.

I gaped up at him, "H-how did you get here?" I asked, stunned.

He brushed off his perfectly clean shoulder with a hand, "Do you have to be the type of person that loves committing cliches?" He sighed, massaging his temples with a hand, "The point of me appearing in smoke is to be fantastic, not to answer stupid questions."

I was seriously going off the deep end.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he said, taking off his hat, "The name's Goeff. Magician, miracle worker, and your fairy godfather," he bowed low, sweeping his hat grandly.

That's when I smashed him in the head with the flower pot.

When he finally woke up, about two hours later, I was ready. With vase and cell phone in hand, I faced him.

"I want some answers, mister," I said, confronting him, "and if you don't fess up, I'm not unwilling to do things the hard way." The Goeff fellow stared at me, eyes wide in surprise as he realized that he was tied up. Or, more correctly, taped up. I'd wrapped him, from his wrists, up to his chest, "That's right, duct-tape."

He sighed, "In most stories, the main character needing a fairy godparent's assistance does not tie up said godparent. It makes it harder for the godparent to want to help. Not that I actually wanted to help in the first place, but beggars can't be choosers."

I narrowed my eyes, "What do you mean, most stories?"

An eyebrow went up as Goeff stared at me, "Cinderella ring a bell, princess?"

I frowned in confusion, "What does a kid's story have to do with you appearing on my balcony?"

"This is going to be harder than I thought," he muttered.

I menaced him with the vase, "Explain."

Goeff glared balefully at me, "I'm the fairy godparent that is supposed to make all your wishes come true. Happy?"

This was not making sense, "Why would I end up with a fairy godmother?"

"Godfather," Goeff corrected, "because your situation has become dire and the Godparent Community decided you needed some help."

"There's a Community?" I repeated, shocked, "How many of you are there?"

Goeff frowned, "I only discuss my job to possible employers, not clients. It avoids awkward explanations."

I lifted the vase, "You might want to change that rule of yours."

"Fine," he rolled his eyes, "there are about 5,000 of us total. About half of us are part-time godparents waiting for a transfer to University."

"Slow down," I sat down across from where he was seated on my couch, "there's a University? For being a fairy godparent?"

"No," the idea appeared to make him feel ill, "thank the satyrs. The University is for Wizards."

I leaned back, trying to absorb all of this information. First a guy claiming to be a fairy godparent, (not that I actually believed that), then something about satyrs, and wizards.

"By the stupefied expression on your face," Goeff said, "it looks like you're starting to figure it out."

I glared at him, "So you're trying to tell me that the fairy tales are true?"

"Not trying," he clarified, "telling."

I stood up and went to the window, staring out at the city, "If that is true," I said over my shoulder, "why can't we see the magical beings that are supposed to exist?"

"You see them all the time," Goeff snorted, "but you're too stupid to believe what you see with your own two eyes. Adults always try to explain everything, kids see the magic all the time. That's why I prefer working with ages thirteen and under. They're less stupid."

I turned to give a sharp retort but Goeff was standing in front of me, duct-tape wrapping gone, "Whoa!" I held up the vase, shoving him away.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Goeff said, "can't you understand that? I just want to get your life back on track and then I want to get out of here."

"Why do you want to help?" I asked, still leery of trusting him, "And how did you get out of the duct-tape?!"

"Magic," he snorted. Then he frowned, glancing around the room, "Wait, where's my hat?"

I pointed to the door leading to my kitchen, "In there, with your stick."

He nodded and headed into the kitchen.

I followed him, not wanting him to go through my stuff, "Wait, you haven't answered the first-" I stopped short. He was gone. I checked back in the other rooms, "-question," I finished lamely.

Was I going mad?!